


Lover

by waveydnp



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Fix-It, Hospital, M/M, mentions of blood and injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:35:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22590343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waveydnp/pseuds/waveydnp
Summary: the clown is dead, but the healing has only just begun
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 18
Kudos: 137
Collections: Obsessivelymoody Birthday fics 2020





	Lover

Noises drift in and out. None of them make much sense on their own, but together form a picture in his mind that feels familiar. Steady beeps, hushed words, his name murmured in many different cadences. 

One voice is more frequent than the others. It’s nasally and a bit broken, but over time it feels like a companion of sorts. He’s got company in this strange hazy purgatory.

Always there is pain. Sometimes it’s dull and sometimes it’s sharp. Sometimes he thinks he definitely can’t survive such a feeling. The beeps will get faster and the words floating around the blackness will get louder, more panicked. Then the blackness will swallow him.

The first thing he feels that isn’t pain is something squeezing his hand. It’s a pain of its own, really, the pressure so tight it crushes the bones of his fingers together, but there’s something blocking words from escaping his throat and he can’t speak to ask the squeezer to stop. Still, it’s something solid, something real. 

The voice still sounds broken, but weaved in between the anguish is a growing sense of resignation. That scares him more than any of the rest of it.

Beeping. The beeping is incessant. He thinks it might drive him crazy.

Is he dead? Is this what it feels like to be in hell?

The voice says, _Come on man. Please, Eddie _.__

__It’s crying. He. He is crying. Crying over Eddie._ _

__Another voice. Much softer. Tortured still, but in a different way. A woman, Eddie decides. Then the voices are gone and the squeezing stops. The beeps continue._ _

__Later it smells like smoke. Not from a fire, but the kind he always smells back home, on the street when he’s weaving through endless people to get to the deli or a meeting or an appointment with his doctor. Cigarette smoke, a smell he’s always secretly liked, though if you asked him he’d make a face and start listing all the noxious ingredients that combine to make the aroma._ _

__He’s never smoked a day in his life. His mom would have killed him. She put the fear of something worse than god in him, and even years after she’s been gone he can hear her voice, soft and cloying. _Smoking gives you cancer, Eddie Bear. You can’t do that to me. Promise me, baby, promise me you’ll never leave me_._ _

__He opens his eyes. He forgot he could do that. His eyes don’t focus on anything, but there are smudges of colour and muddled shapes and he knows he’s not dead._ _

__“Holy shit. Eddie?”_ _

__The voice yells, loud, frantic. Eddie tries to speak but all that happens is he starts to choke._ _

__A doctor comes, because that’s where he is. Of course. He’s in the hospital. The eternal beeping is just a machine echoing his heartbeat._ _

__A tube gets pulled from his throat. It feels like dying. He makes the most god awful noises._ _

__He feels lightheaded. There’s lots of talking that he can’t make out because he really does feel like he’s going to die. Or vomit. Or maybe both. Something squeezes his arm. Something pokes into his arm with a pinch. His skin feels itchy, his mouth dry, chest tight. The blackness comes back for him, and it’s a sweet relief._ _

__There’s still beeping when he wakes up, but he opens his eyes again and the world appears in his view. He coughs and there’s no cold plastic blocking his air anymore. It must be nighttime, because the only light in the room comes from the many medical machines that surround him._ _

__It still smells like smoke. The squeezing on his hand is as tight as a vice._ _

__“Eddie?”_ _

__He’s crying again, but Eddie can see him now, and he can see that he’s also smiling. Tears stream down his cheeks and he’s smiling so big. The curves of his face are sharper than they were last time Eddie saw him. He shakes his head and presses Eddie’s hand to his mouth. “Fuck,” he says, and then starts to sob._ _

__“Shut up, Rich,” Eddie croaks, and then he starts to cry too._ _

__-_ _

__Richie is still there in the morning, sitting in the chair beside Eddie’s bed, slumped over onto the mattress, clinging to Eddie’s hand and drooling onto the sheets. Eddie’s chest hurts, and it’s more than the pain of recovering from being impaled on an alien spider-clown’s claw._ _

__Richie looks awful. He looked kind of awful even before everything happened, like a person living a life that didn’t belong to him. Eddie recognized the look right away. It’s the same one he’d been staring at in the mirror for the past twenty five years._ _

__But now Richie looks _really_ awful. Pale, thin, haunted. Eddie squeezes his hand. He squeezes so hard that Richie wakes up and hisses, but he doesn’t pull his hand away. He only squeezes back even harder._ _

__“You’re really here,” Richie says, voice gruff._ _

__“So are you.”_ _

__“You think I’d leave?”_ _

__Eddie closes his eyes. “Don’t leave, okay? Stay.”_ _

__“I’m never leaving you again, Eds.”_ _

__Eddie smiles, a tear trickling down his face. “Don’t call me that.”_ _

__-_ _

__He doesn’t stop. He calls Eddie all the stupid nicknames he did when they were kids, the kind of names that made Eddie’s heart do things he was afraid to think about. They still make him feel like that, and he still tells Richie to stop every single time. He means it as much now as he did then: not at all. The day he ceases to be Eddie Spaghetti to Richie is the day he really has lost himself._ _

__He lost himself for a long time. A lifetime, really. And maybe it should scare him that he feels more alive while lying in a hospital bed with a sewed up hole in his chest and needles in his arm and a tube in his dick than he ever felt in his nice Manhattan apartment with his wife and his well-paying job, but it doesn’t. The scary thing is how much time he wasted allowing himself to be trapped in a lie his mother planted in his head. That he was weak, that he needed other people to take care of him, that cocooning himself in bubble wrap was better than scraping his knees on all that life has to offer._ _

__He can’t eat the food they serve him here, though. And he can’t help freaking out at least once daily about the likelihood of contracting some kind of deadly super infection because the nurse didn’t follow proper protocol when changing his bandages. Richie sneaks him in blueberry pancakes from the shitty little diner they used to eat at in high school and assures him over and over, never less patient than the last time, that the nurses are amazing and he’d already be long dead without them._ _

__-_ _

__All the Losers come to visit him before they have to splinter off to their own corners of the country. He wants to hug them but he can’t. They make an oath not to forget each other, but this time there’s no blood. Just laughter and tears and exchanged phone numbers. Bev kisses his forehead before she leaves and tells him to be brave._ _

__They start a group text._ _

__But Richie takes his phone away after he notices how much the ringing of it makes Eddie’s heart rate skyrocket. He takes it and doesn’t give it back._ _

__“I’m gonna get fired,” Eddie says. “I was only supposed to be gone a few days.”_ _

__“You can get another one,” Richie says. “One you actually like.”_ _

__“Myra’s gonna call the fucking cops.”_ _

__Richie laughs. “Dude, she already did. Like two weeks ago.”_ _

__Beepbeepbeepbeep—_ _

__“Deep breaths, Eds-my-love. Deep breaths.”_ _

__“I need…” He’s starting to hyperventilate. “My inhaler.”_ _

__“You definitely don’t.” Richie puts his hand on Eddie’s shoulder. “You just need to breathe.”_ _

__“I have asthma, asshole.”_ _

__“You don’t and you know it.” He squeezes Eddie’s shoulder harder. “Breathe, Eds.”_ _

__“Don’t call me that,” Eddie gasps, but he sucks in a huge breath against the tightness in his chest, and he can tell right away that it helps. He stares at Richie’s stupid face and his stupid hair that’s too long and his stupid glasses that are cracked in the corner of one of the lenses. And he breathes. He breathes until his heart doesn’t feel quite so much like it’s about to explode meat and blood all over this stupid fucking prison cell hospital room._ _

__“Can I tell you what happened without giving you a fucking panic attack?” Richie asks later._ _

__“That’s not—”_ _

__“Shut up,” Richie interrupts. “Don’t be stupid, Edward.”_ _

__“Don’t call me stupid, Richard.” He crosses his arms over his chest and then quickly uncrosses them at the agony of his stitches being pulled. “Tell me what happened.”_ _

__“She showed up. After she found out you were here.”_ _

__The beeping starts up again but Richie cups his cheek with his big hand and leans in close to his face. “Breathe, Eddie. It’s okay, man. Everything’s fine.”_ _

__“What happened?” Eddie croaks._ _

__“She made your heart rate go apeshit. They kicked her out after a few days.”_ _

__Eddie’s eyes roll shut. “Jesus Christ.”_ _

__“Trouble in paradise?”_ _

__Eddie doesn’t open his eyes. He can’t look at Richie right now. He doesn’t want to see his gray-green eyes or his stubble or the strangely cut line of his jaw. He doesn’t want to see the hair that’s grown long enough to curl like it did when they were teenagers or the too-long sideburns Eddie’s fingers always seem to itch to reach up and touch._ _

__This hurts worse than Bowers’ knife plunging into his face. This hurts worse than being shish-kebabed on Pennywise’s spider hook._ _

__“Shut the fuck up, Richie. Just shut up. I don’t wanna talk about her.”_ _

__“I really don’t either, man.” Richie’s thumb strokes back and forth slowly against Eddie’s non-injured cheek. He’s got stubble of his own there now. More than that, actually. It’s probably a full beard at this point, but Eddie hasn’t looked in a mirror in forever, and he doesn’t really want to._ _

__He reaches up and presses his hand against Richie’s. “I don’t wanna go back.”_ _

__“So don’t.”_ _

__“I hate my life,” he whispers. His eyes are still closed. He’s afraid of what he’ll find on Richie’s face if he opens them._ _

__“We can make a new one.”_ _

__“Shut the fuck up.” It’s like a reflex. Whenever Richie says something Eddie desperately wants to hear, everything within him tries instantly to negate it._ _

__But he doesn’t have to do that anymore, does he? They’re not teenagers anymore. They’re grown ass men. And they’ve wasted enough time. He’s wasted enough time denying who he is and what he wants._ _

__He doesn’t want Myra. He doesn’t want to spend one more day feeling broken._ _

__“I told you I’m never leaving you again,” Richie says. “I meant it.” He pulls his hand away and stands up. “I’m going out for a smoke. But I’m gonna come back.”_ _

__“Don’t smoke, Rich. It’s so bad for you.”_ _

__Richie smiles sadly. “Everything I love is bad for me.” He starts to walk away._ _

__Eddie’s heart feels like it’s breaking. He remembers lying in the sewer, warm all over as his own blood washed down his body, and then cold as the life started to leave him. He could see that Richie was screaming but he couldn’t hear anything. He couldn’t even feel any pain. His mouth tasted like rust and Richie’s hands were everywhere and he knew he was going to die. It wasn’t even a question. And in that moment all he could think was that he’d never be able to tell Richie the truth._ _

__“Everything except me, right?”_ _

__Richie turns around slowly. He’s wearing one of the ugliest shirts Eddie’s ever seen._ _

__“Right?” Eddie asks again, softer this time._ _

__Richie is crying again. He turns his back again and Eddie watches him disappear out the door._ _

__-_ _

__He smells like an ashtray when he comes back. He’s got a laptop tucked under his arm, and he doesn’t say a word before toeing off his shoes and climbing up onto Eddie’s bed. “Move over Spagheds.”_ _

__Eddie shuffles over wordlessly, swallowing the vocalization of how much pain that causes. Richie opens the computer on his legs and pulls up Netflix. “What do you want?”_ _

__Why does that feel like such an impossible question?_ _

__Maybe because no one’s really asked him that before._ _

__“Cheers,” Eddie says._ _

__-_ _

__He falls asleep with a head on Richie’s shoulder. When he wakes up Richie is asleep too and the laptop is dead. He needs to use the bathroom. The catheter only came out a few days ago and walking still feels like the most monumentally difficult task in the world, so he gently shakes Richie awake and asks him for help._ _

__It’s humiliating. He needs to lean most of his weight into Richie’s side and hobbles to the toilet like an eighty year old man. He has to sit to pee, and Richie stands in the doorway of the bathroom watching like he’s never heard of the concept of privacy._ _

__Eddie can’t avoid his reflection when he goes to wash his hands. The beard is actually impressive, his hair dark and thick. He hates it. He splashes some cold water on his face and wonders if Richie is looking at his ass through the gap in his hospital gown._ _

__He turns around leans against the sink, and they just look at each other for a while._ _

__“When was the last time you slept in an actual bed?” Eddie asks._ _

__“Don’t remember.”_ _

__“Eaten a decent meal.”_ _

__Richie shrugs._ _

__Eddie looks down at his feet. “I shouldn’t have asked you to stay.”_ _

__“Why? You change your mind?”_ _

__He looks up. “It was selfish.”_ _

__Richie’s gaze is so intense. “When was the last time you did something selfish, Eds?”_ _

__Eddie shakes his head. “Don’t call me that, man.”_ _

__“Why?”_ _

__“Because… because it scares me.”_ _

__Now Richie looks down._ _

__“Everything scares me,” Eddie says. “But especially you.”_ _

__Richie bites his lip and nods._ _

__“Don’t cry, asshole.”_ _

__Richie laughs. “Fuck you.”_ _

__Eddie holds an arm out. “Help me, please.”_ _

__Richie walks him back to his bed and tucks him in. He gets Eddie a cup of apple juice with ice cubes and holds the straw for him while he drinks it. He sits in the chair by Eddie’s bed and tries to perform the last standup routine he’d actually written for himself. Eddie laughs as much because it’s terrible as he does because even Richie’s shitty jokes fill his insides with warmth._ _

__Having help doesn’t feel like a chain around Eddie’s ankle when he gets to choose whether or not he wants it. He falls asleep holding Richie’s hand._ _

__-_ _

__“Would you do something for me?” He’s leaned in close to the mirror staring at his terrible beard while Richie stands in the doorway keeping watch._ _

__He expects a sarcastic joke or a playful fuck you, but Richie just says, “Always.”_ _

__Eddie turns around. “Shave this shit off for me?”_ _

__Richie tilts his head. “Really? I kinda like it.” He doesn’t ask why Eddie can’t shave it off himself._ _

__“I hate it.”_ _

__“I’ll go pick up a razor, then. Do you want pancakes? I’m hungry.”_ _

__“Rich, they have razors here.”_ _

__Richie waves just hand dismissively. “Those are like, one shitty, paperthin blade. You’ll get ingrowns and shit.”_ _

__Eddie’s chest squeezes his heart, hard. This is what it’s supposed to feel like to have someone care for you. It’s not supposed to make you feel small and weak. It’s supposed to make you feel loved._ _

__“Okay.” His voice cracks. “Thanks, Richie.”_ _

__-_ _

__It takes a very long time to get a clean shave. Richie is so careful. He keeps a hand under Eddie’s chin, gently tilting his face upwards. Eddie’s pulse is nervous and quick, but he looks at Richie the whole time. Richie, so focused, so deliberate in his movements when he’s touching Eddie._ _

__He’s beautiful. Eddie lets himself think it. Beautiful in a way that wouldn’t translate to most people, but now that Eddie’s thinking about it, he realizes it’s definitely the best face. The only face that could get this close to his and still not feel close enough._ _

__They’re sitting across from each other on the bed, cross legged, a small bucket of warm water between them. It works better this way than standing by the sink in the bathroom because of the height difference. Richie had fun teasing Eddie about that. Words like ‘fun sized’ were used, and Eddie dutifully informed Richie for the hundredth time that five foot nine is perfectly average and actually it’s Richie who’s the genetic freak in this situation, thank you very much._ _

__“At least I’m not a beanpole anymore,” Richie had said._ _

__“No,” Eddie replied. “You filled out nicely.” He was almost as caught off guard by that comment as Richie was._ _

__Richie hesitates when he gets to Eddie’s slashed cheek. It’s healed up enough by now that it shouldn’t be a problem, but Richie’s concern is palpable._ _

__“It’s okay, Rich,” Eddie says._ _

__Richie dips the razor into the water and swishes off the foam and bits of hair. He doesn’t say anything._ _

__“You won’t hurt me.”_ _

__Richie huffs out a shaky laugh. There’s a long pause before he says, “It wasn’t selfish, you know.”_ _

__Eddie wants to pretend he doesn’t remember what that means, but there’s a tension in the air now and he knows they’re going to have to say some things eventually, as wary as they both seem to do it._ _

__“You’ve got a life—”_ _

__Richie cuts in, “I think the selfish thing was me staying.”_ _

__Eddie frowns. “How is that selfish?”_ _

__Richie shakes his head. “Because, man… you just… you don’t know.”_ _

__“So tell me, dipshit.”_ _

__He sighs. “You don’t know how much I want it.”_ _

__Eddie’s heart lurches. _I guess we’re fucking saying things now_. _ _

__“I think I do, actually.” He reaches a shaky hand out and puts it on Richie’s thigh._ _

__“Fuck.”_ _

__“Shut up, Richie, Jesus Christ.”_ _

__Richie shakes his head. “You can’t just… do that.”_ _

__“Why not?”_ _

__“Because… because.”_ _

__“Because?”_ _

__Richie drops the razor into the water and scrambles off the bed. “Because you’re married and you’re injured and you’ve been treated like shit your whole life and the last thing you need is another person latching on and trying to fix you.”_ _

__“Do you think I need fixing?” Eddie asks._ _

__Richie stills. “No.”_ _

__“Exactly. You never did. You always pushed me. You always made me feel brave.”_ _

__Richie shakes his head. “You _are_ brave. It had nothing to do with me.”_ _

__Eddie gives him a look. “It has at least a little to do with you, Rich. I forgot about that. I forgot about the clown and then Derry and… and you. And I forgot how to be brave.”_ _

__“So did I.”_ _

__“I never want to forget again.”_ _

__Richie looks tortured. “Me neither. Don’t wanna forget you.”_ _

__In that moment, Eddie thinks of Bev. He wishes he’d got to talk to her more before she left. Maybe she could have told him how she managed to throw a lifetime’s worth of abuse over her shoulder like the dead weight it was. Why wasn’t she angry? Why wasn’t she broken? How did she find the courage to choose Ben when every other man who’d ever claimed to love her had betrayed that trust a thousand times over?_ _

__But he knows better than that. As soon as the thoughts enter his head, they exit again. Ben isn’t her father. Ben isn’t her husband. Ben is good. He’s always been good._ _

__And so has Richie. Richie isn’t Sonia and he isn’t Myra. He’s fucking Richie. He’s the Trashmouth who snuck in through Eddie’s window and held him after nightmares. He’s the guy who never let Eddie believe he was as fragile as his mother said he was._ _

__“You said you’d never leave,” Eddie says._ _

__“I won’t.”_ _

__“Then get the fuck back over here, Tozier.”_ _

__Richie walks over slowly and sits on the bed._ _

__Eddie says, “We’re not done.” He’s talking about more than a half shaven beard._ _

__Richie picks up the razor. “We’re never done, Eds.”_ _

__Eddie hopes he’ll never stop calling him that._ _


End file.
